


Written in the Snow

by erriikaa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Snowed In, Traditions, just two dumbasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27718768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erriikaa/pseuds/erriikaa
Summary: Keith and Lance have been best friends for as long as they can remember. Their favorite childhood tradition turns into an accidental confession. Keith panics.This piece was written for the 4 Seasons of Klance Zine :)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111





	Written in the Snow

3,121,200 seconds. 

3,121,200 precious, _precious_ seconds.

Gone. Wasted. Thrown out the window. Ripped from his grasp and tossed into the void. 

Keith _knows_ , alright? Trust him, he did the math. 

See, he and Lance go way back. Seventeen years to be exact. 

The McClain’s moved into the house next door just two years after Keith was born. And naturally, with two little spitfire toddlers growing up merely fifty feet away from each other, their friendship sparked immediately. 

Seventeen years later, Lance is still Keith’s closest, and oldest, friend. And throughout all those years, they’ve seen it all together. Puberty, heartbreak, achievement, sickness, celebration, death. 

Seventeen years of laughter. Seventeen years of struggle. Seventeen years of inside jokes, stupid decisions, and fond memories. 

Countless memories. Far more than Keith could ever keep track of. 

But none quite as special as those from their favorite annual winter tradition. 

He honestly can’t even remember how the tradition started, or whose idea it was. The finer details from so many years ago are nothing but a mere haze in his memory by now. But none of that matters. They built the tradition together. Piece by piece. Year after year. Crafting and shaping it to be completely and uniquely their own. 

It’s just their thing. Something they’ve done every winter without fail since they knew how to walk. After every storm. Every snowfall. Every flurry that flutters from the sky sends them both rushing out into the snow without hesitation. Lance makes a beeline for Keith’s backyard, and Keith goes for Lance’s. And from there, they get to work, shuffling their feet through the snow in practiced patterns, carving giant letters into the fresh snow. Two large footprint-crafted messages imprinted in the snow beneath their bedroom windows. One for Keith. One for Lance. 

The messages they write are never more than a mere handful of letters. Small, teasing remarks. Words of encouragement. Inside jokes. Simple phrases like _‘good luck!’_ before an exam, or friendly reminders like _‘ur ugly’_ just in case they forgot that day. Nothing but a few insignificant words to decorate their best friend’s snow-covered backyard.

Little phrases that mean nothing.

Little phrases that mean everything.

But alas, he digresses. Back to the math. 

See, that’s seventeen years of carrying on this silly winter tradition. And in each of those years, their town receives about thirty-four days of snowfall (he knows, he looked it up). And on each of those days, Keith and Lance find themselves out in the snow tracing out some insignificant message with their feet for about… forty-five minutes? Give or take?

Well, assuming his math is correct, that’s seventeen years with thirty-four days a year at forty-five minutes a day— deep breath— for sixty seconds in a minute times a factor of two for Lance’s efforts— almost there— and that all comes out to a grand total of…

3,121,200 seconds.

He’s checked it over in his head. Double, triple, _quadruple_ checked it and he _still_ comes out to the same woeful answer every godforsaken time. 

3,121,200 seconds dedicated to building up a lifelong tradition. 

3,121,200 seconds dedicated to the greatest friendship he’ll ever have. 

3,121,200 _precious seconds._

And he managed to fuck it all up in just one.

He sighs to himself, long and suffering as he runs numb fingers through his hair. He tugs at the long locks, feeling the strain against his roots and hoping it will be enough to wake him from this wretched nightmare. 

Honestly, what was he _thinking?_

Actually, he knows the answer to that one. He _wasn’t_ thinking. Was too tired to conjure up some clever message, so he just let his legs work on autopilot instead. Let his subconscious take over, providing the words for him without giving them a second thought. 

Too bad his subconscious is a sneaky little bastard. 

He stares down at the snow resting innocently in Lance’s yard, hoping that maybe if he glares hard enough, the words will just… disappear. Evaporate. Erase all evidence that this ever happened. 

They don’t. 

Regret sours in his stomach as he reads the words over and over again. Giant, bold letters that spell out, _‘Date me?’_ loud and clear and positively _pitiful_ across the yard.

He almost wants to laugh. Almost. 

Because really? In what scenario could this possibly have had a good outcome? Why on earth would Lance ever want to date _him?_ They’ve been best friends for seventeen years and it’s obvious to anyone with _eyes_ that’s all they’ll ever be. Lance only sees him as a friend and nothing more. It’s not his fault that Keith’s heart isn’t on board with the whole _just friends_ concept. Not his fault that Keith’s been hopelessly pining over his best friend for over a year now. 

God, what a mess. _Keith_ is a mess. 

He needs to leave. Go back inside, abandon the crime scene, and _somehow_ figure out a way to fix this before he loses Lance completely. 

Because that. That’s the thing that terrifies him the most. He can deal with rejection. He can handle unrequited love. He can get over his feelings for Lance given enough time. 

But losing Lance as a friend? The mere thought alone has Keith trembling, heartbreak and loss burning through his veins. 

With an irritated huff he turns on his heel, trudging dejectedly back to his own house. He shoves his way through the backdoor, slamming it shut behind him. He doesn’t care that he’s being loud. Doesn’t care that it’s nearly 4:30 a.m. and his family is still sleeping. Hell, he should be sleeping too, but if he couldn’t sleep before, he sure as hell isn’t going to be able to now. 

He lets out a sigh, long and defeated as he runs a hand down his face and trudges over to the couch. His knees hit the side of the armrest, but his momentum continues, tilting him forward to flop face down into the cushions. He can’t even be bothered to take off his outerwear, simply ignoring the soggy sensation of melting snow on his clothes. Merely elects to bury his face into the warm cushions of the couch instead, hoping beyond hope that they’ll swallow him whole and put an end to his misery. 

He rolls his head back and forth against the soft leather, wracking his brain for anything, _anything_ , that could possibly make this situation any less of a disaster. But despite his mini tantrum, he comes up blank.

With a sigh and a great amount of effort, he rolls over onto his back and drapes a limp arm across his forehead. His eyes scan the ceiling, tracing patterns back and forth as if he could somehow find the answer to his problem hidden in the faded paint.

_What is he going to do?_

─────────────────────────────────────

He doesn’t notice the sun peeking over the horizon until a series of texts rattles his phone and pulls him rudely out of his wallowing. He sits up with a groan, snatching his phone from where it lies abandoned on the floor. A quick glance at the screen tells him it’s nearly 6 a.m. 

It also tells him the texts are from Lance. 

_Great._

He rubs a frantic hand over his eyes, a futile attempt to wake up his senses as he swipes the messages open with trembling fingers. 

Annoying Psycho Neighbor  
> KEITH  
> keeeeeeeith  
> keithy  
> keef  
> keefers  
> emo mullet  
> buddy  
> my man  
> bestest friend in the whole wide world

Keith  
> LANCE  
> What the fuck????

Annoying Psycho Neighbor  
> oh good you’re awake!!

Keith  
> Yes Lance I’m awake  
> The real question is why are YOU?

Annoying Psycho Neighbor  
> THAT  
> is totally irrelevant  
> completely beside the point

Keith  
> Lance  
> It’s 6 am

Annoying Psycho Neighbor  
> sheesh can’t a guy wake up early for once just because he wants to  
> maybe I want to watch the sunrise  
> i’m turning over a new leaf and decided i’m going to enjoy my mornings  
> new year new me and all that bs  
> is that so hard to believe??

Keith  
> Yes

Annoying Psycho Neighbor  
> GASP  
> how dare  
> the utter DISRESPECT  
> it’s a beautiful morning Keithy!!  
> MAYBE I just want to appreciate it hmm????  
> there’s a beautiful fresh sheet of snow outside!!!  
> NOT that you should look at it  
> y’know just  
> take my word for it  
> definitely no need for you to look outside  
> no there’s certainly no need for that

Keith  
> LANCE  
> Please stop before my phone explodes  
> I can hear your nervous word vomit through the screen  
> What gives?

Annoying Psycho Neighbor  
> UM EXCUSE??  
> I’m NOT word vomiting mullet!!

Keith  
> Yes you are  
> Stop deflecting  
> Just...  
> Come over already and tell me what’s up

Annoying Psycho Neighbor  
> ...  
> okay

Keith closes his eyes, breathing in deep and mentally bracing himself for what’s to come. He’s got a pretty good idea why Lance is freaking out. Pretty sure it has everything to do with the absolute trainwreck that is Keith’s life and his innate ability to ruin every good thing that comes his way. 

With a sigh, he shoves his phone into his pocket. The pessimistic part of him knows his situation is futile, but the stubborn part of him refuses to listen. The truth is out there, quite literally _imprinted in the snow,_ so there’s no use trying to avoid it now. Might as well bite the bullet and get it over with. 

They need to talk about it. Face to face. Rip the bandaid off. Clear the air and try to salvage whatever sense of normalcy they can. 

Because underneath all the bullshit? This is _Lance._ He’s not a _bad guy._ Not even a little bit. Hell, he’s his _best friend._

So really, why is he so worried? It’s not like Lance is going to laugh in his face and pound his heart into the dirt. He wouldn’t just forget all their years of memories and toss Keith away like they meant nothing. He would never ditch Keith altogether, abandoning him and their friendship just because Keith couldn’t keep his feelings in check. 

Lance would never do that. He wouldn’t.

... _Would he?_

A loud knock on the door pulls him out of his spiraling, much to his appreciation. He pads over to the door on hesitant feet, desperately trying and failing to settle the rapid beating of his heart as he reaches for the handle. 

A wave of cold and snow greets him when he opens it, accompanied by a sheepish, shivering Lance. 

His face instantly curls into a frown, not even a moment passing before he reaches forward and pulls Lance inside. He yelps as he stumbles through the door, but Keith ignores him, all thoughts thrown to the wind at the sight of his very adorable, yet very _stupid,_ best friend standing outside in a snowstorm wearing nothing but a _thin hoodie_ over his _even thinner pajamas._

Why does he like this idiot again?

He promptly shuts the door behind them, cutting out the cold and making a beeline to the living room with a very disheveled Lance in tow. Only when they make it to the fireplace does he release Lance’s arm, switching on the artificial flames and positioning Lance in front of their heat. 

Lance shuffles by the flames as Keith pulls away, peering up at him with a pinch in his brow. “Uh… Keith—”

“Why aren’t you wearing a jacket, Lance? Did you not notice the literal _blizzard?_ You would’ve frozen out there!”

Lance simply stares for a moment before scoffing and rolling his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s _such a far walk._ I was outside for like, _fifteen seconds._ How terrible of me! I think I’ve caught hypothermia! Save me, Keith!” He lifts the back of his hand to his forehead, rocking back on his heels and swooning into Keith’s chest. 

He tries to fight down the laugh as he pushes Lance off him, but it escapes his lips just the same. “Oh my _god,_ get off me, you oaf!” 

Lance gasps as he stumbles to catch himself. _“Excuse you,_ I take offense to that!”

“Good,” he deadpans. “You may not have gotten hypothermia, but guess who won’t be taking care of your sorry ass tomorrow when you wake up with a cold?” He crosses his arms over his chest, leveling Lance with a knowing smirk. 

“Hmmm, not _you,_ ” he sings, an easy smile spread across his lips. “You always take care of me, Keithy. And we both know that’ll never change because you _looove me.”_

Keith’s breath catches in his throat, the weight of the situation flooding back into his mind at once. “Uh… right, well about that… we should probably talk…” He watches as Lance visibly tenses, dropping his gaze and shuffling his feet. 

“Oh. Right, well… y’know... I was actually just messing around with those texts earlier. There’s nothing we need to talk about really.” He lets out a laugh that’s far too forced. “Nope. All good here. We’re totally chill. Perfectly cool. Cool as ice, my man. My dude. My best bro—”

And… wow. Keith knows he fucked up. He _knows,_ okay? He knew Lance would be uncomfortable about the whole thing. Knew his reaction would be horribly awkward and painful for both of them. 

But _Jesus,_ he didn’t expect it would be _this_ bad. Lance can’t even look him in the eye. He’s an awkward, rambling mess, and what’s even worse? He’s deflecting. Trying to avoid and ignore the situation altogether. Brush it under the rug. Walk right over Keith’s feelings like they’re so irrelevant they aren’t even worth talking about.

And that right there. 

That hurts even more than the worst sort of rejection could. 

“Okay, just _stop.”_

Lance snaps his mouth shut, flinching slightly at the sudden outburst. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so harsh, but he can’t bring himself to _care_ at this point. 

He’s mad, okay? Pissed actually. Pissed at himself for fucking up and ruining the best friendship he’s ever had. Pissed at Lance for not being decent enough to just _talk_ to him and let him down easy. Pissed at the world for burdening him with this stupid fucking snowstorm that started the whole problem in the first place. 

They’re _going_ to talk about this goddammit. And if he has to drag Lance all the way over to his own backyard until he’s staring the damn message in the face to finally man up and acknowledge it, then so be it. That’s exactly what he’ll do. 

His mind takes a backseat to his body as he reaches forward, grabbing Lance’s arm and all but _dragging_ him to the backdoor. Lance puts up resistance behind him, rattling off questions and protests as they go, but Keith doesn’t listen. Simply continues onward, throwing the door open and stepping out into the snow. 

He picks his way hastily across the snow to Lance’s yard, a very resistant Lance in tow, but— he falters when he spots something strange in his own yard. Something that definitely was not there when he last came out here. Something that looks like…

Footprints. Decorating _his own_ backyard. Ones he definitely didn’t put there himself. Footprints engraved into the snow in the shape of letters. 

He takes half a step closer to be sure he isn’t imagining it. Isn’t imagining that Lance had also come out here already and wrote him his own message. A message that spells out…

His heart lodges in his throat because… because… _what?_

His eyes scan the words over and over again. Once. Twice. Ten times just to be sure he isn't dreaming. Then another five times again to be safe. To be _really_ sure. To be _absolutely certain_ that the message before him actually says _‘Te quiero’_ like he first imagined it had. 

And here's the thing. Keith is not fluent in spanish by any means. But he’s been around the McClain family enough to pick up on some of the more important phrases. Enough to know that this little phrase right here means _‘I love you.’_

It’s a common phrase. One the entire McClain family has said to him countless times. Hell, even Lance himself has said it to him more times than he can remember.

But this… Written here in the snow like this… 

Lance’s messages are always dumb. Playful. Meaningless. Insignificant teases that are so blatantly sarcastic. 

Yet this one sticks out like a sore thumb. Sticks out so obviously from the others that he _knows_ it’s meant to be different. This one isn't a tease or joke. This one isn’t to be taken lightly. This one has weight to it. 

And that means…

His eyes shoot wide, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest as he whips around to face Lance. A smile tugs at his lips, a million words on the tip of his tongue, but Lance beats him to it. Their eyes lock and he’s helpless to watch as the immediate panic takes over Lance’s features and the word vomit starts to spill.

“Keith, m’sorry! I know what this looks like, but I don’t want it to be weird! Like I know this totally isn’t the kind of thing we _do,_ I mean— you’re my best bro, and you’ll always be my best bro, and I never want that to change. Well, maybe a little bit, but only in a better way? Like— _ugh._ What I’m trying to say is—”

“Lance.”

“—don’t want this to make you uncomfortable because we can _totally_ just ignore it and go right back to being just friends with no weirdness whatsoever—”

_“Lance.”_

“—can just pretend this never happened and pretend I never made things awkward at all and—”

_“Lance!_ Oh my _god,_ listen to me!” 

Lance snaps his mouth shut, pinched brows and unsure eyes staring back at him. All panic-struck, pouty-lipped, and positively _adorable._ He looks just about as pitiful as Keith had felt all morning, and suddenly, it all clicks into place. The _real_ reason why Lance was so freaked this morning. The panic. The miscommunication. The jumping to conclusions. 

Keith laughs softly to himself. It’s all too familiar. 

He shakes his head softly, shifting his grip on Lance’s arm to take hold of his hand instead. A smile that’s two parts mischief and one part fond curls at the corners of his lips. “I can’t believe I’m in love with your dumb ass.” 

Lance startles at his words, but Keith doesn’t wait around for a response. He simply takes off running to the other yard, Lance in tow throwing a volley of questions and curses his way, every one of which he drowns out with laughter. 

He doesn’t stop until his own message sits right in front of him, big and bold and glistening in the dawning sunlight. Lance nearly runs right into him, but stops at the last moment, gasping for air with a question already halfway out his mouth. Keith simply shakes his head and points to the snow, a silent demand for him to shut up and _look._

He waits with bated breath as Lance gazes at the snow, his entire heart poured out in the footprints within. His heart pounds in his chest, anticipation threatening to build up and swallow him whole as Lance simply stares. And stares. And stares… Until he finally— _finally_ — turns his head, pinched eyebrows and adorably hopeful smile peeking through his lips as their eyes meet. 

“Do you... really mean it?” Lance’s voice is hardly a whisper. So soft it might’ve been lost to the wind if he hadn’t been standing so close. “You really want to date me?” It’s said with so much hope. So much longing and giddiness. But there’s a persistent undertone of fear. Fear of being let down. Led on. Rejected.

It’s, quite honestly, adorable, and Keith has to fight back a laugh at the idea that there’s even the _slightest_ possibility that he’s just messing with him. That maybe it’s just another one of their friendly jokes. That Keith really only sees him as nothing more than a friend. 

As if he ever could. 

He stretches out a hand, fingers curling loosely around Lance’s. “Of course I mean it, you idiot. I’ve always loved being your friend, but… I also want to be more.” His free hand lifts, scratching aimlessly behind his neck as he shuffles on his feet. “It’s actually something I’ve wanted for a while now.” 

Lance inches closer, pressing their bodies together and draping his arms around Keith’s neck. His smile is positively _blinding_ as he shakes his head, laughing softly under his breath. “I can’t believe all these years I’ve been your wingman, when I could’ve just kept you all to myself.”

Keith wraps his arms snug around Lance’s waist. A bashful smile curls the corners of his lips as he leans forward, resting their foreheads together. “Well, I’m all yours now.” Then softer, almost shy. “I’ve always been yours, Lance.”

He feels more than he hears the hitch in Lance’s breath. His eyebrows pinch together, eyes big and blue and _beautiful_ as they glisten with emotion, catching every reflection of shining sunlight off the porcelain snow. 

A soft whine escapes the back of his throat as he drops his head onto Keith’s shoulder, rolling it back and forth to emphasise his mini tantrum. “Oh my god, _Keeeeeith.”_ He tries to sound exasperated. He really does. But he falls tragically short with the waves of affection that pour through his voice instead. “When did you become such a _sap?”_

“I learned from the best.” A smirk pulls at his lips as Lance lifts his head, leveling him with a scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended by that.”

“A little bit of both is probably your best bet.”

“Hey!” Lance flicks his cheek, but he simply smiles wider. “You _wound_ me, Kogane. And here I was thinking that you _loved me,”_ he huffs far too dramatically, leaning back and turning his head to the side. He crosses his arms over his chest, sticking his nose indignantly up in the air and— good _god,_ the _drama._

Keith can’t fight the laugh that escapes his lips. A pout forms on Lance's lips, but he can still see the smile he’s trying to hide underneath it. 

It’s cute. 

_Lance_ is cute. 

_“Lance,_ c’mon,” he huffs between soft breaths of laughter. Lance just pouts harder. 

He rolls his eyes before leaning his head into Lance’s view, trying and failing to hide the teasing smile from his face. _“Laaance._ C’mon, look at me.” He lifts a hand, cupping it underneath Lance’s chin and gently turning it back to face him. “I _do_ care about you, idiot. A lot. I kinda thought I’d made that clear by now.” 

Lance considers, lips pursing and looking around as he ponders. “Hmmm, I don’t know, Keithy. I’m still not entirely convinced.”

The corners of his lips lift just barely, the smile showing more in his eyes than his lips. He shifts his hand gently across Lance’s jaw, fingers curling into the soft locks of hair just behind it. 

Then he leans in, capturing Lance’s lips the way he’s dreamed of doing for months. _Years_ even. 

Lance surges forward, meeting him halfway and breathing out a sigh against his lips. He’s sure his lips are cold and chapped in the dry winter air, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when Lance’s lips are soft and warm against his, melting the chill in his bones in an instant. His eyes flutter shut as he grips onto Lance, pulling him closer, bodies flush tight against each other. He dives in, capturing his lips again, and again, and again, drinking up every last ounce he can get. 

Lance tastes like coffee, the flavored, sugary crap he always drinks in the morning. He tastes like chocolate chip muffins, the ones he and his siblings always bake during a snowstorm. He tastes like peaches from his favorite chapstick. Cinnamon from that weird toothpaste he likes. Oranges from the vitamin gummies he takes. 

He tastes like _Lance._ Like all the perfect little details that make up who he is. All the things Keith has memorized about him over the years. All the things he’s grown to love.

He feels Lance’s lips part against his, a smile curling at the corners. His own smile breaks free as he pulls away just an inch, fully unbidden and positively _giddy._

“Are you convinced now?” he teases, voice dripping with mischief and mirth, though it isn’t as effective as he’d hoped with how breathless he is. 

Lance leans back in, brushing his lower lip against Keith’s in a quick tease before pulling away again. “Mmmm, I’m not so sure. I think I need a little more persuasion.” 

He breathes out a soft laugh, gladly obliging as he captures Lance’s lips again. And again. And again...

Lance shifts against him, tightening an arm around his neck and moving the other to cup his face. When it touches his cheek, Keith pulls back with a start, capturing Lance’s hand in his own. 

“ _Jesus,_ Lance! Your hands are freezing!” His eyebrows knit as he looks Lance over, eyeing the thin clothes he’s wearing. Lance stares back at him, startled from the sudden outburst and shaking like a leaf while his teeth chatter softly against the wind. 

Keith grabs his hands and holds them between his own palms. “Lance, you’re cold as ice! Why didn't you say anything?” 

Lance gives him a sheepish smile. “Uhhh, because I may have been a little preoccupied with... y’know... kissing you?”

God, what an adorable idiot.

He rolls his eyes, letting out a huff to indicate his exasperation, but he knows Lance can hear the fondness in it just the same. “You really are a handful sometimes, huh. What am I going to do with you?”

“You could keep kissing me.” His lips curl into a smirk, topping it off with a wink. 

“You have no idea how tempting that is. But if you stay out here any longer, you will literally freeze.” He pulls back, capturing Lance’s hand and tugging him back towards the door. “Come on, dummy. You can kiss me inside.”

Lance intertwines their fingers as he lets Keith lead him back into the house, warm fire waiting invitingly for them by the couch. He smirks as he follows willingly inside. “Well okay, Keithy. But I’m holding you to that.”

And that he does, wasting no time curling back into his space, peppering him with kisses and lavishing him in affection.

And as the snowstorm picks up outside, covering the grounds in a fresh blanket of snow, they settle in by the fire with a blanket of their own wrapped snug around them. Lance curls up comfortably between his legs, relaxed and content and purely _beautiful_ as he falls asleep against Keith’s chest. It’s then that Keith’s heart _finally_ relaxes, basking in the warmth of the fire at their feet and Lance’s steady breath fanning out against his neck. 

His gaze mindlessly wanders to the window, absently mourning their footprint confessions as the fresh wave of snow erases them for good. But the feeling leaves him just as quickly as it came. He knows the footprints will disappear, but their sentiments won’t. Keith could never forget them. And he knows Lance won’t either. 

3,121,200 seconds they spent tracing messages in the snow, none nearly as memorable as these.

3,121,200 seconds spent building up and carrying on a lifelong tradition.

_3,121,200 precious seconds_ spent leading up to this moment, this _perfect moment_ that Keith will never forget.

He drops his gaze back to the man in his arms, committing every beautiful detail to memory while Lance sleeps soundly against his neck. 

He can’t wait for the next 3,121,200 more.


End file.
